He gave me a flat look. "You're wearing them wrong, genius."
"Am I?" I sank back into the chair and looked at him over the frame. "They feel right to me."
That almost-laugh from earlier tugged faintly at the edge of his mouth again. It didn't quite make it, but it hovered for a second longer than the first time.
I'd take it.
The doctor knocked once before letting himself in. He was an older fellow, polite but brisk. Probably did half a dozen stitch removals before lunch. He gave a quick greeting, then motioned for Rowan to tilt his head toward the light.
Rowan obeyed without a word and tipped his chin so the doctor could get a better look at the cut. I lifted the glasses off my nose to set them on top of my head as I watched. Even from where I sat, I could see the skin was still red and a little puffy. Not angry, really. Just healing.
"Good. Looks clean," the doctor said, already snapping on gloves. "Let's get those out."
He pulled a small tray toward him and started working. There were only three or four stitches, so it wouldn't take long. But I couldn't stop watching the way Rowan held himself.
He sat perfectly still. Shoulders still, jaw set, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap so tight his knuckles went pale. The doctor wasn't rough, so it wasn't pain that had him on edge. It was the proximity. A stranger leaning in close enough to have scissors near his face.
I wished I could take some of that tension from him. Take the edge out of the moment so he didn't have to white-knuckle his way through something so minor.
The doctor worked quietly, his gloved hands moving quick and steady. I heard the faint snip of the scissors, the soft clink of the tweezers as he set them in the metal tray.
"There we go. That's the last of them." He peeled open a small plaster and pressed it gently over the spot. "Keep it clean and dry for a day or two. After that, you're in the clear."
Rowan gave a silent nod.
The doctor smiled briefly, said he'd update the chart, and left with a soft click of the door behind him.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then Rowan reached up and brushed his fingers gently over his face.
I tilted my head. "Feel weird without them?"
He shrugged. "A little."
"If you start to miss them, I'm sure we can find some spare thread and a stapler."
His eyes cut toward me – dry, unimpressed, and vaguely offended. But his lips twitched, too. Just a bit. Like he was trying not to give me the satisfaction.
I smiled to myself.You're still in there, Ro. Just buried.
He rolled his eyes at me, then pushed himself carefully off the exam bed, one hand bracing his side as he straightened up. "I'll take my glasses back, please."
Though I reached up to take them off my head, I hesitated. "You sure? If they hurt before, they'll definitely hurt now."
"I'd rather not be blind on the walk home."
His tone wasn't sharp. Just matter-of-fact. And I could understand where he was coming from. Feeling exposed outside was bad enough. Doing it half-blind would be worse. So I didn't argue.
I stood and stepped in close, careful not to crowd him. He didn't flinch or pull away. That had to be a good sign, right?
I eased the glasses onto his face and lined them up carefully. The bruises around his jaw and temple had mostly faded, but up close, I could still see the faintest hint of discolouration where they had been. I tried not to touch him too much, but it happened, anyway.
His eyes flicked to mine when my fingers brushed against his skin. His shoulders tightened, and I could tell by the way his chest moved that he was trying to keep his breathing under control.
That familiar pull flared up again. I caught myself fighting with the part of me that wanted to close that last bit of distance. But even if Rowan had been in the headspace to accept it, this wasn't the place for that.
I adjusted the frames to make sure they didn't press toomuch against his face. "Better?"
He quickly looked away and adjusted them a bit. "Yeah."
